


Take Out for Dinner

by Trunchbull



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trunchbull/pseuds/Trunchbull
Summary: Everyone loves a dinner party. It's eat or be eaten.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coralus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralus/gifts).



> I wrote this for a friend. Every time we talk about Drift’s legs, it devolves into food somehow, and this time I brought up hogtied pigs and hit a new kink I didn’t know I had for robots.
> 
> This is my second time writing robot porn ignore the poorness

 It wasn’t the first time that Drift had taken on a group session. Even if there were more participants than usual. But the prestigiousness of the situation was what made it such an interesting situation.

Drift was used to the slums, where a cheap frag usually ran in a dirty hotel; there was little class or true preparations before the frag. He was in and out as fast as he could perform. He’d never been in a position that required training like this.

His wrists and ankles were adorned with  cuffs that were chained together, making it a bit more of a challenge to maneuver them. He couldn’t make complete strides or extend his arm entirely, which would make his role in this fantasy scenario a bit harder. He took careful steps as he carried the platter of assorted energon treats and wine glasses out into the dining room, where ten guests sat, making idle conversation. They were bots of higher class, their plating adorned with fancy patterns and swirls that broadcast their social status.

Drift himself was polished beyond what he’d ever been able to afford before to impress a client. The wax was applied in a thick layer, giving his plating a lush sheen that accentuated his form and would make a bot look twice. His paint had been given a touchup, too; he swore he’d be the most vibrant bot in the Dead End, out of place, even.  This was what the lower tier of expensive prostitutes would look like. It almost made Drift feel valuable.

Drift swallowed, keeping his gaze low as he was instructed to, before beginning to deck the table with the bowls. He leaned over the table to reach the center, and already he could feel the leering gazes. They were allowed to touch him, and he would have to take it. Wine glasses were set for each guest, and there were definitely a few brushes on his plating of guests that were eager to get a feel of his frame. He paid them no mind, he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge them unless directly guided by a guest’s hand.

One of them definitely had bold wandering hands. A finger traced up his inner thigh as he bent around the guest to place the glass. It had reached the junction between his thigh and his codpiece when Drift’d pulled away to finish his job, though, from the corner of his eye, Drift could see a very predatory look upon the guest’s face as they licked their fingers .

Okay, so he was leaking a little.

He would be fine. All of this was in a controlled environment. No one could make him do anything that he truly wasn’t okay with. Do it for the shanix.

Everything went smoothly. They teased themselves with the basic samples of energon as Drift exited back into the kitchen area.

“Everything okay so far?” The bot who’d hired him for this event in the first place asked, placing a hand upon Drift’s shoulder. He would not be participating, but that wasn’t really Drift’s concern. One less bot he’d have to please.

“It’s fine, Swindle. Nothing I can’t handle,” Drift flashed a smile that had no genuine feel backing it up. He’d be okay.

“Voyeur did say you were one of the more impressive bots he’d found. With the main course, they’re definitely going to get handsy. Some of the candies you laid out contain an extra kicker to get them in the mood,” Swindle smiled, though, they both already knew that.

Drift had taken some of those aphrodisiac candies as well, for he was the main entree to this evening. He was filled to the brim with high grade energon—more than he’d ever been able to touch in his lifetime. His energon reserves were capped at 120% for the first time in stellar cycles, and it definitely wasn’t the most sobering sensation. He could already feel the aphrodisiac taking effect, his valve producing copious amounts of fluids that was trickling down his thighs, his interface panel required to be retracted during this entire experience.

“The food will be done shortly. Just sit here for a bit and the chef will let you know when it’s ready,” the purple-eyed mech explained, gesturing to the bench placed in the space available in the vestibule. “I need to go make a few business calls, but as I said before, you’re being monitored, and if at any point you want to stop, just say the magic words and they should stop. If not, comm me.”

With that, Swindle left Drift alone to his own. Drift did take a seat on the bench, the chains clinking in the silence of the small antechamber. He could hear the murmurs and occasional laughter to his left, and the sound of food preparation on the right. He rubbed his thighs together to try easing off some of the pressure his valve was experiencing, but it only served to tease the emptiness. His spike was extended and yearning for some contact. Whatever aphrodisiac they gave him, it was _strong_. It didn’t help that the energon he’d consumed was highly potent, making him feel dizzy.

Swindle said it was perfectly fine to become intoxicated during the dinner, but Drift didn’t feel so safe being blitzed out of his mind surrounded by strangers who held power over him. Swindle _did_ say they’d be watched the entire time, and Voyeur was an excellent repeat customer that Drift had no qualms with, giving Drift no reasons _not_ to trust him. And with such a large offer of shanix riding on this, it was between a  clear head and clear intent, and turning his fuel intake moderation chip for a night of fuzzy memories and questionable activities and a whole load of shanix.

He took his chances.

The food was done, signaled by a whistle from the right. A bot popped out as Drift made to stand, and another platter had been offered. “One more after that,” he said, seeing how Drift wouldn’t be able to both carry and serve the food with two full trays and shackled wrists at the same time.

Drift moved back into the dining room again, this time with five plates to serve up. The first guest was accommodating, giving her thanks  to Drift and ignoring him once again. Drift moved over to the next one. He’d no sooner bent over to the right of the second guest when a hand traveled down his side,  squeezing experimentally to feel the wax coating on him. Ignore it for now, he’d tell himself. The plate was set. He could move on— _oh_ , they’d pinched his protoform from in between his armour, with how sensitive it was, Drift couldn’t help but jump and let out a startled chuckle, pulling away from the guest’s side to serve the next guest.

But the orange guest wasn’t letting up. Drift, now on the guest’s left, was pulled back by the hips. Drift startled, nearly losing his grip on his platter. There were fingers definitely drawing a ring around his valve, collecting some of the lubricant that had dripped out.

“Look, Vice, look at how wet he is,” the orange mech was saying, probably gesturing to the femme beside him. Drift couldn’t see, he was setting down the next plate for a mech who was interested in his abdominal vents, prodding in between the seams. To be honest, it felt a little weird, and Drift huffed out some hot air that had been pooling inside. The little blue mech gasped in delight, pulling his fingers back and entwining them.

By then, the second guest had released his hips in favour of giving guest number one a sample of his valve’s fluids... to which she licked off of his fingers. It wasn’t abnormal to see participants screwing each other, but Drift wasn’t accustomed to them feeding off of his essence.

The last two guests on that side of the table were a loud, rambunctious couple. A pair of jets who seemed more interested in trying to toss energon goodies into each other’s mouths without missing than focused on Drift. He set food in front of them, to which they found a new source of entertainment from.

And then one of them paused. “Hey, you know, you’re supposed to serve from the left side, not the right side.”

The other jet snorted. “Yeah, get it right,” and Drift received a smack on the aft.

That definitely snapped him out of his buzzed mood. They both giggled at his jump, turning away to eat.

With the platter empty, Drift hobbled back into the antechamber, chains rattling loudly with his energetic steps. The bot that originally gave him the plates was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, to stand here, or to knock...

Thankfully the bot popped his head through the door again, optics brightening when they saw Drift. “Ah, second serving. Only one.” He held out the second tray, which held the same contents as the first. Drift couldn’t recognise what it was; he’d never had such luxuries as a true variety in his diet, so food like _this?_ He had no name for it.

He moved to the side yet to be served. The bot was a mix of blue and green, and he made a come hither motion that Drift obeyed either way.

The bot wasted no time laying his hands on Drift’s waist, tracing down the black frame before wrapping a hand around his spike. Drift gasped, hips jumping to meet his touch. It was so strange to feel himself so reactive to this; his spike wasn’t as sensitive as his valve normally, and yet, it felt twice as powerful when the hand gave a squeeze before moving up and down along the length.

His grip on the silver platter grew tighter  as he tried to keep steady, biting his lip as stroke after stroke made it harder to keep his balance. Just in case, he locked his knees.

“I love frames like these,” he muttered, and he seemed to be leaning down. Drift’s optics flashed, it was as if he were about to kiss the head...

“Hey, we want our food, too!” A yellow motorcycle whined. The bot servicing Drift’s spike gave it one last tug, before smiling and releasing. With the current charge racing through the speedster’s systems, it was hard for him not to finish himself off then and there. There were countless of other clients that had a thing for overload denial, though, so while it was painful and at the front of his mind, he swallowed, and collected himself enough to move over to the next bot.

“She gets pissed off easily.” It was a blue bot, similar in shade to the mech on the other side of the table. “She can suck on a railroad spike.”

He blinked. “Then again, maybe I should, too.” He licked his lips, staring hungrily at the spike that was now dribbling energon down its length.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m hungry!” The bike hissed, pulling him back and away from Drift’s rod. “I want food now and I’m not as interested in taking it from him than you are.”

“Fine, fine!” He held up his hands in surrender, giving Drift space  to maneuver over to the bot who’d granted him a few moments reprieve from the handsy one.

Drift kept a mantra of ‘serve the food’ in his mind as he handed the next plate out, to a white and black... Drift had no idea what this bot could be. The red visor stared at him, but with how aroused Drift was, he couldn’t find the means to wonder.

“You can’t just leave a bot on the edge like that,” that was a very heavy Vosian drawl, one that Drift immediately recognised. It was Voyeur! The black combat tank had been a frequent customer back in the Dead Ends. Why a bot with an alt mode such as his screwed around in the slums like that, Drift did not question. He merely accepted the pay.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling Drift from around the monochrome bot, taking the platter from Drift’s hands and removing the last dish from it before setting both to the side. “It’s time to get this show started.”

.o

He’d been blindfolded and hogtied by Voyeur himself. He’d even taken the liberty to pop a giant oil-glazed confection into Drift’s mouth, the treat so hard that it withstood the task of opening his mouth. He was in the middle of the table, legs spread with his aft slightly raised to present itself as an offering for the guests tonight.

He’d been presented, displayed, and finger fucked more than once, passed around to other guests, who’d jerked him off to completion [to which they eagerly slurped up the released fluids from his spike]. But his valve had remained untouched by another’s spike. It was all activities he was used to, and it went by without a hitch.

Drift could feel someone moving onto the table, heavy thumps drawing closer to him before they stopped. He tensed in anticipation before a hot blast of vented air hit his exposed valve. A cold wave followed, causing him to quiver as it became clear just how much he’d been leaking.

Something was probing at the entrance to his valve, circling the ring and cleaning up his mess. It laved over the anterior nodes lining the ring, and the strong stimulation had Drift’s engine revving hungrily. Apparently that was the signal for the bot to dig in, and Drift found a glossa exploring his insides.

Drift could count on one hand how many times he’d been eaten out.  Each time was different: some enjoyed the taste of a bot after being brought to overload without a spike, the peculiar flavour their fluids gave; some enjoyed the taste of their own fluids inside a bot. In the current situation, Drift’s fluids were more potent energon than simple liquid byproduct, thanks to the ungodly amount of excess energon currently sitting in his tanks.

Suction made him produce more, what an offputting feeling to physically feel energon being sucked from his tanks and straight through the lubrication production lines built into his valves. It tingled, like someone was stroking his internal systems.

Whoever was feeding on him was doing a good job. Any energon that trickled out was immediately licked back up. Internal nodes were constantly caressed as the inquisitive tongue sought out more energon, to which Drift’s body happily supplied.

Drift could hear pleasured gasps off to the side, and the clang of metal. Some had already begun to frag each other when Drift was being passed around. Not everyone who was here tonight was specifically here for Drift, and that was a relief to Drift. It meant he didn’t have to try to please every bot in this room, yet he’d still be paid the same as if he’d serviced all ten of them and more.

They were humming into his valve. It sent vibrations straight into his spark and Drift couldn’t stop the cry if he tried. The ropes prevented him from moving, but he tried his damned best to grind back into that crafty mouth.

 _Ohhhh_ they nipped at his anterior nodes, the pings reached his processor in rapid succession until he was overloading.

A stream of fluids rushed out of his valve, more than the bot currently feeding on him could take at once. He could feel it running along his codpiece and trailing into the seams of his thighs. He’d never produced this much lubricant before, but thankfully, his intoxicated mind kept those worrisome thoughts away. He already knew why, he just, just didn’t care.

“Yummy.” The bot whispered, and oh, if that didn’t just turn Drift’s fans a little faster.

The aphrodisiacs sent another hungry pang through his panel, and calipers clenched after the bot’s tongue as he withdrew. Drift wished he could ask for more, he was really burning up, but that sweet object blocked his requests.

He was being lifted up onto his knees, and he could feel the movements of two more bots coming onto the table. The bot that had just used him moved around to the front, Drift could sense that he’d risen to his feet. Two hands kept Drift balanced on his knees, otherwise the current bondage setup would have had him falling backwards.

A smaller set of hands was felt on his thighs soon after, and another cupped his aft. The candy was pulled from his mouth before the hands that were gripping his shoulders found themselves gripping his finials. Now the majority of his weight rested upon the hands of the mech that situated himself between Drift’s legs, second in line for feeding off his body.

His mouth was guided to a spike, which he kissed [clients loved that], and opened his mouth to accept. The one handling his head guided him easily, not too roughly that his finials would ache from misuse. The bot in front of him began to suckle on his spike, and with Drift’s new position, it was a bit easier to buck his hips here.

It was a whole new wave of sensations. Both his valve and spike leaked abundant amounts, as though it were energon on tap. And this bot that he was sucking off... the mech was basically restoring the amounts lost as they overloaded fairly quickly in Drift’s mouth. Drift eagerly sucked down the fluids, not bothered by the charge that was released as well in the back of his throat. He managed to get down all of it, and had finished with a clean faceplate.

The bot eating his valve was more aggressive than the last one, biting at the ring of his valve and sucking with much more fervor. No longer muffled by objects in his mouths, Drift’s mewls sounded loud and clear, to which laughter was its reply.

“He’s so cute,” someone said. At least, he think he heard it. It was getting hard to understand what anyone was saying. He was so close... his body was trying to curl in on itself, but it was hindered by his restraints.

Just a little more...

The bot who’d been sucking his spike dragged their teeth across his length at the same time that the mech exploring his valve had reached a long unused node that maintained its sensitivity over the stellar cycles.

Drift’s world was crashing, his vision filled with static and body slave to the sensations of a dual overload. Steam rose from his screeching fans, static dancing on his frame. His hips didn’t know where to jerk—down into that sloppy mouth or forward into that talented one.

And on cue, another wave of energon poured from his valve.

It was still hard to believe that they were so eager to consume anything produced from his body.

He was let down slowly, body jerking with the aftershocks, pitiful moans coming from his vocaliser. He may have been a bit tired now, but the aphrodisiac wouldn’t let him be satisfied with just three or four overloads.

He’d have a long way to go before he burned off all of this charge.


End file.
